Featuring: your favorite Canadian Thrash band Fatality. Written with fervent apathy by our charming singer/guitar player Spencer Le Von.

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Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Towards Disastour Blog Vol. 2.5: Sleepless in Greenfield

Last night I had the shittiest sleep of all time. We were
put up by Brian from American thrash band Lich King in a small town called
Greenfield, MA. He lives on a beautiful property at the end of a long, skinny
and winding forest road. We headed there after our set in Florence Mass for
some much needed shut eye. When we got there Brian gave us a tour of his
basement, which turned out to be an awesome recording studio. I would normally
be all too enthusiastic to be hanging out with all of this great recording
equipment and great company, but I was just too damn exhausted to hang out.
Instead of being a polite guest, while everyone was preoccupied I meticulously
and connivingly scoped out a place to sleep. “Forget these chumps I am
traveling with; I'm looking out for numero uno. Self-interest is the name of
the game, baby,” I selfishly grunted to myself. As the band was getting the
grand tour and being polite, I took off in a flash in search of a soft surface
to rest my weary head.

I came across a large room I can only describe as a utopia
of sleeping apparatuses: couches and bunk beds galore. I had my first pick of
all of them. I believe I started laughing maniacally before doing a quick test
sample of all of them with my fatigued fanny. Until I found it: the top bunk of
the bunk bed. I could not resist its charm. There is something about the top
bunk that has always been sacred. It has been fought for and coveted through
the ages in school-aged sleepovers since the invention of the stackable bed. I
love everything about the top bunk. Especially that intrepid and gallant
feeling you get as you pitter-patter up the silly little ladder. I scaled that
fuckin' dumb ladder in 2 and a half seconds and descended into sweet, sweet
comfort and relaxation.

Enter Adam Zlotnik

I will say this right now. Sleeping on a bunk bed above Adam
Zlotnik is like trying to slow dance with an epileptic at a rave. It’s fucked.
He immediately hopped in the bottom bunk and made a phone call to my complete sorrow
and disappointment. Once the phone call was complete, he began tossing and
turning like a listless trout washed up on the beach of fuck-it. Once he got
settled he would go “AAAAH” like he had just drank a nice iced tea on a hot
day. All the while I was wiggling about on the top bunk like an asshole whose
only fault was being mind numbingly self-serving.

Then finally I approached rest. You know that warm and
tender feeling you get as you slip away into sweet unconsciousness? It’s like a
hug from your mother, and a pleasant bath all in one. I just started drifting…
and drifting… and drif…

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

I immediately become fully alert and filled with homicidal
rage. I realize that it is Adam knocking in my bed from underneath me. “WHAT!?”
I squeaked like I had just had a dream of road rage. “Is that you snoring?” he
whispered. It was then that I look to the floor and find my brother and
drummer: self-sufficient snoring Mason on an inflatable air mattress that he
had the foresight to bring from home so that he would never have to sleep above
a gentleman with the personality and likeability of a wet sock ever again. “NO
IT’S MASON SNORING, AND NOW I HAVE A FRONT ROW SEAT FOR IT ASWELL YA PRICK!”
“…sorry.”

I could have gotten back to sleep if my entire being wasn’t
consumed by hate and irritability.